Five Times Matt Punched Mello
by Jengou
Summary: Mello/Matt. Five times Matt punched Mello because the punch-ee was being a dickhead, and then they fought, but then realized that this was a really stupid thing to fight about, and went back to being cool together.


Title: Five Times Matt Punched Mello

**Title:** Five Times Matt Punched Mello  
**Author:** **jengou**  
**Pairings:** Matt/Mello  
**Genre:** Crack  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Spoilers for the entire series.  
**Word count:** 973  
**Disclaimer:** I am slave to the boys, I have _no free will_.  
**Acknowledgement:** Written for **ethanol** in response to her prompt.  
**Prompt:** 'Five times Matt punched Mello or vice versa because the punch-ee was being a dickhead, and then they fought, but then realized that this was a really stupid thing to fight about, and went back to being cool together.'  
**Warning:** Unbeta'd and full of dumb.

**one.**

The first time Matt punched Mello in the face wasn't even intentional.

"I swear," Mello seethed through gritted teeth, sprawled on the floor and nursing his swollen cheek. "It _works_. You just punched me _the wrong way_."

Matt kissed his fist and blew on his knuckles. "Sorry. I guess your disfigured face is kind of an easy target."

Matt approached Mello as though approaching a dog with rabies as Mello got to his feet and grumbled, "Why do you always have to bring my beautiful _face_ into everything?"

"Of all things to learn from a mobster prostitute," Matt said, looking rather smug, "'fighting skills' was a poor choice."

Mello's lips curled at the taste of copper in his mouth, and he glared at Matt through angry eye slits. "I learned other stuff too."

"Oh yeah?" Matt waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Yeah. Like this," and Mello kicked the legs out from under Matt.

**two.**

The second time Matt punched Mello in the face was very intentional.

"What- What do you think you're _doing_?!"

Mello was crouched down on the floor, and swung around on his heels to face Matt. He sighed in an immensely martyred kind of way, oblivious of Matt's mounting emotional distress. "I am doing menial labor. If you remember correctly, I asked _you_ to do this, but you, being the lazyass that you are, couldn't be bothered."

He turned his face back towards the car he was spray-painting black, and took an appreciative sniff. "So I, despite being the criminal mastermind of this operation, had to do it myself."

"When I said 'no', I meant NO MY PINK CAR IS NOT TO BE PAINTED BLACK."

Mello rested his elbows on his knees, more to give his arms a break than out of respect for this conversation. "What's the big deal? Black goes with everything. Like the inconspicuous kidnapping part of our plan."

"And your EYE."

"You cretin, my eyes are blue– OW, the _fuck_!".

**three.**

"Hey!" Matt yelled into Mello's ear over deafening techno beat and drunken laughter. "Let's _go_. I'm sick of all these sleazeballs thinking you're a whore and buying you drinks."

"No, no, this one wears nice leather, he clearly drives a cool motorcycle," Mello slurred. "We need one. Your clunky Mustang," he flicked his wrist dismissively, "is no use for whisking away pretty young things. Especially when it is still _pink_."

Mello made to consider. "Admittedly, you might have some luck whisking away pretty young men. Haha, you _fag_!"

Mello screamed the last word a tad hysterically, which might or might not have prompted Mr Nice Leather to reach over and give Matt's scrawny bum a friendly pinch.

"Augh!" exclaimed Matt, and out of pure instinct punched Mello in the face. Mello passed out and crumpled over like a shiny leather-wearing chocolate wrapper.

"Um," said Matt. The men who were vying for Mello's attention all fell quiet and stared.

"Um," Matt said again. "My friend has… passed out from the excitement. I must take him home."

"You're not a thief, are you?" Mr Nice Leather asked, and winked at Matt. "You can borrow my motorcycle." Wink wink.

On the way out, Mello came to. "Cunning," he said as Matt hauled Mello through an island of streetlight. "Couldn't have done it better myself," and passed out again.

**four.**

"Wait, wait," Mello complained, making whoa-whoa hand movements at Matt. "My simple plan of you distracting and me kidnapping is brilliant. Why must you complicate things? I don't want to force that woman to take off her clothes. I don't want to dress up as a delivery boy. I refuse to play a part in your sick, sick fantasy."

"It's not 'complicating'," Matt explained exasperatedly, "it's called 'watching your back'."

"Watch my _bum_. Why not have me dress up as a choir boy instead?" Mello mused. "I'd fit right in in the rendezvous point, and I can charge Takada with sexual assault on a minor."

"I don't think you're young enough to pull that off," Matt replied, deadpanned. Then he paused. "Are you?"

Mello shrugged. "I know I don't look it, but I'm probably old enough to father you."

A pregnant pause, which gave birth to baby pauses. Mello threw his head back and laughed abruptly as though by accident, air bubbles getting caught in his throat.

"The look on your face," Mello wiggled his fingers in the air in a way which made no sense. "Matt, I am your faaatherrrrr…"

Matt punched Mello between the eyes, and Mello yelped something about domestic abuse.

**five.**

"I'm telling you," Mello whined, kicking Matt in the shins under the blanket. "I can't sleep. All these headaches from you braining me all the time. It's not what I recruited you into this operation for."

"You recruited me for keeping your head cool," Matt said, rolling over to elbow Mello in the ribs. "Remember? You need to work on that 'hot head' of yours, major development point on your report card and all."

"That is a subjective statement based on sentiments not facts," Mello muttered. "Fact remains that I rank above you and you should know your place in the Wammy food-chain. I eat you!"

"Not if you get yourself killed first," Matt said, punching Mello on the shoulder.

"There's that," Mello conceded. He tucked one knee up, which connected with Matt's stomach and made him grunt in pain. Otherwise, he didn't complain, and the knee stayed where it was as their eyes closed and the sun started to rise over the city of Los Angeles.

**Notes:** I loathe apologizing after every fic, but I am SO SORRY that every one of these Five Times is retarded! It's as though the fic is trying to tell me things about my intelligence, and, um, oh dear. :frets: Hope it got a few chuckles out of it anyway :-)


End file.
